


grains of sand or stars in the sky

by Inkyfingerstoo



Category: New Girl
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 02:45:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2050551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkyfingerstoo/pseuds/Inkyfingerstoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene in 'Injured' between the night and the next morning. Drunk Nick Miller contemplates many things as he sits on the beach waiting for the sun to rise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	grains of sand or stars in the sky

He’s fucking freezing. He should not be this drunk and feel this cold.

Can’t they build a fire or something? Back in the day he’d made all kinds of kick-ass bonfires on the beaches of Lake Michigan. Now they got all these rules about not building fires on the beach. It’s ridiculous. Damn governments. What the hell’s the big deal? There’s an entire body of water a few feet away in case it gets outta control. He’s gonna write a letter. Petition that shit. Make some changes. Do stuff. Yeah, he’s gonna do that. Later.

(Shit. He might have cancer.)

………

Jess would like his fire. Be super impressed with his fire building skills. That’s just straight up fact.

He takes a second to look around to see if there’s any actual wood he could burn but that makes him dizzy so he focuses back on the water and the steady thrum of waves crashing and receding against the shore.

There’s an awful amount of uncomfortable chaffage going on in his crotchal region thanks to tugging on his jeans and boxers when still soaking wet. He wiggles his butt in the sand hoping to dislodge some of the wet material in certain places.

(Son of a….Cancer. This whole thing sucks.)

His attention is drawn to Jess as she wiggles into the sand as well. She had laid down on her side facing away from him; it’s been a while since they both agreed it was time to go but neither had made moves. He can’t remember why they didn't. Just knows the silence was comfortable, the waves were soothing, and she was next to him.

Or maybe that’s really what Nick Miller does. Nothing. Says he’s going to do something but never follows through. Starts something but never finishes. He probably won’t even get this cancer thing right if he really does have it.

(Fuck, he might have cancer.)

Someone save him. He doesn't want to go do down that thought spiral. Can’t. He won’t come back from it.

(Just like how his dad never came back.)

Crap! It was starting. Someone please save his drunken ass from himself.

Jess wiggles again, her back bumping into his waist and upper thigh, the sand clinging to his damp jeans brushing off onto her pink coat. Nick takes a steadying breath, focusing all his thoughts there.

Mission: clean Jess’s coat. Lifting his left arm from where it rests on his knee, he concentrates on not just pawing at the sleeping girl like a Gorilla (majestic and misunderstood creatures that they were). Brushing at the fuchsia-dyed material, he wonders if his hands are really as big as they look. They practically span her entire back!

He takes a second, brows furrowed in concentration as he twists in his seat, falling back on his left elbow into the sand to get an exact measurement. The underside of his wrist touches the sand as he presses the heel of his hand to the lower left side of her back. Flattening out his hand his eyes widen in amazement as the tips of his fingers reach the top curve of her side.

"Whoa. I do have giant hands," he whispers, super impressed with himself.

The pressure on his left hand increases and suddenly the heat from her back reaches his senses.

He snatches it away and sits up but curses under his breath; the hasty move having gotten more sand on her coat.

(OK. You can do this, Miller. Just brush off the sand. Clinical. Like a Doctor. A doctor friend. Like Sadie. A lesbian. Yes, brush her back like a lesbian Doctor friend would.)

This time he lifts his right hand to her back and brushes off the sandy debris, twisting slightly and leaning his weight back on his other arm. He thinks he’s doing a great job of it (maybe that’s what he should do, be a sand cleaner…is that even a thing?), that is until the pressure of his hand increases as it moves from the flat of her lower back to the curve of her torso and he hears Jess breath out heavily in contentment.

Bail bail bail! He should…not…not be touching….hands off. That’s his rule. The rule he made for himself since Day 1.

(But the feel of that little dip between her torso and hips is pretty much burned into his memory. His hands have mapped out that slope and he knows he’s going to want to touch it again…and again.)

Fuck. He’s still drunk but not nearly as bad. Pieces of the past few hours are hazy at best and he can only hope this moment will fade from his memory as well.

He sits up again, assuming the position with his elbows resting on his knees, but this time he’s clasped his hands together. He cautiously glances at her to see if she’s woken and thankfully has not. He doesn't turn back to face the ocean. He should but he doesn't.

He’s distracted. She is distracting.

She’s got both arms up, wrists tucked up under head, using her forearms as a pillow. It looks like she tried to twist her hair up near her right shoulder/neck area to keep it out of the sand but a thick piece of it has fallen out.

He feels kind of bad for her. No one likes sand in their hair. And she’s got so much hair, so that’s gonna equal so much sand.

He contemplates the lock of dark hair in the hazy gray light of morning. Must be the ass-crack of dawn as he likes to call it. Normally at this hour Schmidt’s awful blender is going off with some protein powdered fruit juice-head concoction. Right now there’s only the serene sounds of the ocean. It’s a nice change.

Grains of sand and salt stand out starkly against the black of her hair. It’s like the night sky with all its stars has fallen to the beach. He’s reminded of one of the regulars at Clyde’s, Sid, the retired Astronomy professor, conspiracy theorist, and all around weirdo (he’s one of Nick’s favorites).

Every now and again Sid likes to call Nick over and ask: “Miller, tell me which is greater, the number of sand grains on earth or the number of stars in the sky?”

They have endless debates. Neither really looking for the answer. Just taking the time to ponder and discuss the world…the universe and its vastness. Every teeny tiny grain of sand on earth compared to every star in the sky. Sid maintains there’s more stars while Nick just likes to be contrary and say sand (well he was gonna be a lawyer…can’t let almost 4 years of professional argument training go to waste). They've never come to an agreement and the conversation usually just flows into talk of aliens and space travel.

But now, staring at Jess’s sand speckled hair, he thinks maybe Sid is right. If this one lock of hair represents a tiny piece of the night sky and each grain of sand is a star then damn. That’s a lot of stars. He struggles to comprehend the bigness of it all. Also, crap, she’s got a lot of sand in her hair.

Frowning, he turns forward again, the gray light is gradually becoming a lighter purple.

He can fix that for her. He can do something.

Nodding to himself he sits up pulling off Winston’s coat and turns to Jess, up on his knees. Grasping her right bicep in his right hand he lifts her up.

"Jess, sit up for just a second," he says softly.

She hums, her eyes barely cracking open and leans up on her left forearm.

He quickly leans down, spreading the coat out with his left hand, where her head was just pressed before gently lowering her back down onto the makeshift bed/coat mat.

Releasing her arm, she snuggles into the coat, burying her face into the material that was pressed against his neck, releasing a sigh of contentment.

Nick can’t help the smile that crosses his face. He watches her for another second before sighing himself and turning back to the ocean. He messed up his original butt-print with all the movement so he wiggles around to make a new one.

He can do this. He doesn't want to. Would much rather live in ignorance but that’s just not an option. These four idiots scattered around the beach won’t let him. And that’s good. That’s important. All that matters really.

The sky has gone from a light purple to a pink with shades of yellow.

He’s not sure why, but he’s not that cold anymore.

[(x)](http://inkyfingers2.tumblr.com/post/93452339753/hes-fucking-freezing-he-should-not-be-this-drunk)

**Author's Note:**

> This happened bc I always wondered how the scene went where Nick takes off Winston's jacket and lays it on the sand for Jess. Give me that scene.  
> No one listened.....so I made up my own.


End file.
